for instance!

Markham sat suddenly upright in his chair, a look of recognition in his
eyes.

Olga Tcherny! Of course, he remembered now. And this was the cheeky
little thing Olga had brought to the studio to see her portrait, who
had strutted around and talked about money--Miss--er--funny he
couldn't think of her name! He got up after a while, walked around
and peered in at the kitchen door.

His visitor had washed the shelves with soap and water, and now he
found her down on her knees with the bucket and scrubbing-brush working
like a fury.

"See here, I can't let you do that--" he began again.

She turned a flushed face up at him and then went on scrubbing.

"You've got to stop it, do you hear? I won't have it. You're not up
to that sort of work. You haven't got any right to do a thing like
this. Get up at once and go out of doors!"

She made no reply and backed away toward the door of the living-room,
finishing the last strip of unscoured floor before she even replied.
Then she got up and looked at her work admiringly.

"There!" she said as though to herself. "That's better."

The area of damp floor lay between them and when he made a step to